Newspaper Page Text
THE CORNER STONE
M PUBLISHED EVERY THURBDAY MORNING.
JAMES N. BETHUNE— Editor.
W. 8. REYNOLDS & C. H. YARBOROUGH.
PUBLISHERS.
TERMS. — Two Dollars pci.pnum. No name
a to entered upon our book* unless the money
id in advance.
THE SLIGHTED oTeT
“Man was made to Mourn.”
T!io sentiment at the head of this
sketch appears to meet the approbation
of many persons. Indeed, some authors
take pleasure in repeating the very words.
Why this should be the case is the ques
tion. Do not such persons know that
they assert a palpable falsehood ? It is
true that some persons do mourn, and
that some have a great share of suffering
in this world —sufhcient, indeed, to afford
them an excuse for mourning. But to
assert roundly that “man was made to
mourn,” is to assume a position that can
not be sustained by a course of sound
Reasoning. When you look upon a chair,
you at once conclude that it was made
to sit upon. When you see a coach, you
know it was made to ride in; and when
you see a watch, you are certain that it
was made to keep time. The fact is pal
pable upon the face of it. Biit suppose
you see somebody break up a chair and
use it for firewood, would you then be
justifiable in saying that chairs were
made to boil the tea kettle with ? So if
you saw a tin kettle tied to a dog’s tail,
would yon say that dogs’ tails were made
on purpose tew support tin kettles, and
the latter articles were intended as orna
ments to be suspended from the tail of a
dog? Again, if you saw a man on a
scaffold with a rope about his neck,
would you declare thatsnch was the end
of a man’s creation ? On the contrary,
we can produce good authority to show,
that the very worst use which you can
make of a man is to hang him.
Let us then examine the creature man
and see if we can discover those infalli
ble marks of design that would warrant
us in proclaiming that lie was made to
mourn. Firstly, man is said to be the
only laughing animal in existence, for
we cannot call the noise of a hyena a
laugh. With much more propriety
could we say that man was made to
laugh. Other animals can mourn. The
cow utters loud corn plaints at the loss of
her cWf i the dog whines and howls, and I
the crocodile weeps. Batman only taui
laugh. There are many things which lie
can do, and he possesses also theforgans
for accomplishing them. He ,pan do
many things much better than be can
mourn. If man was made to mourn,
all creation would be bung in black. It
is a tact almost self-evident tir
was not made to mourn.
Those, therefore, who give themselves
up wholly to grief, act an unnatural part.
They do not subserve the purposes of
creation—they deny themselves theonly
consolation apart from the brutes, which
belongs to tiieir physical nature. But i
such an individual will plead in exten
uation of bis monstrous and continued
sorrow, that lie has been visited by some
“peculiar misfortune.” That is no valid,
excuse. They cut off beads in France/
and where is there a more merry and
careless people? A Frenchman invited
to a ball, though beheaded in the after
noon, would take his head under his arm
and go to the ball in the evening. Eve
ery misfortune is peculiar. Every source
of unhappiness sends us bitter waters:
otherwise it would not be unhappiness,
But why permit grief to avercorue you ?
You thus chase from you those resources
which are calculated to alleviate your
grief; for it l'emainsto be as true now as
in the days i ;of'€lpllins, that “pale melan
choly” sits few ml. Nobody cares to
meddle w.ith ller. The eye aches when
it is fixes on an impenetrable blackness,
and turns’ for relief to the soft green of
the 60ul —to th(*se cheerful hillocks on
which the sun-beams rest as they glance
through the foliage of leaves and blos
soms. The worlil shrinks, froin those
who can impart no pleasured
Many a fair one has given herself up
to all-devouring grief on the account of
disappointment in love. “She has been
disappointed,” is supposed tobe a snffi
reply, when the sad downcast eye, the
trembling lip, and pallid visage have j
drawn the attention of a stranger to some j
neglected, forlorn maiden, who shrinks j
from the gaze of others, and sits in
a distant part of the room, wrapped in a
speechless sorrow, “like patience on a
monument.”
We knew alight hearted damsel once
who had the misfortune to fall in love, j
She fancied one, who was in most re
spects her inferior, and certainly so in j
point of sincerity. She gave him her |
heart embalmed in sighs, and its incense j
went up to him like the perfume of a i
holocaust from the plains es Isreal. In
return he gave her fair words. He was i
without feeling, but lie could discourse;
he had no heart, for nature had worked
it all up into a tongue, and like the ser
pent, it wrought only venom on those
who placed dependence on the words
which flowed from it. The maiden be
came attached to him She supposed that
his admiration was equal to heis. It
was not his intention to dishonor her, for
that would have involved the possession
of B.>me fooling on his part. lie had
none. His vanity was gratified by her
love, and he permitted tier to love on.
Why she did love him was difficult to
tell. An ordinary person set off by a
fashionable dress, was all that he could
boast of. In the course of a few months
he left her and sought another dupe.
THE CORNER STONE.
VOL 1.
Here was food for sorrow. Here was
a inaid forsrken —true love crossed, and
a real loving heart betrayed! The sickly
pall of grief fell over her visage. Her
bright eyes became dim and wandering.
Her head drooped, and she scarcely
seemed sensible of the presence of oth
ers. Her iesponse to their words was
faint and low. She was like a fading
flower whose stem was bruised.
The cause was a desperate one; for
who can administer to a mind diseased,
and last of all, diseased by hopeless love ?
She loved to sit for hours together, by
the side of a running brook, with her
eyes fixed upon the stream, and if a
cloud came over the sky, and the drops
of rain began ta fall, it was slowly and
and carelessly that she moved off to a
retreat in the very heart ot the gF4HP,
where the thicket was blackest ana secu
rest. There she would sit and weep. She
would repeat the name of him who had
deserted her, as if there were no other
names more’ musical—she would bring
before her mind’s eve his features, as
if there were no other features more
comely—and would pander over the fine
things he had said to lier ? as if more in
genious and pleasing tilings did not re
main to be said.
Thus for eighteen months she lingered
on refusing to be comforted, and when
ever a word was drawn from her, it
breathed only of the hopelessness of her j
lot, and the weariness of blighted ex
istence.
Remarkable as the fact may seem, her
runaway lover having visited distant
lands, and become cloyed by the vani
ties of this gay. world, did, most unex
pectedlv, return to the town where the
melancholy dove abided, presented him
self to her, and repeated his vows in
truth and sincerity. In this event there*
was more truth than poetry, and this
may also be said of the substantial pud
dings ana tarts which graced the board
on their wedding day.
Now seven long years have passed,
and our plaintive desolate heroine, counts
Tour bouncing boys when she ranges the
dishes on the table. She is a notable
housekeeper; and if her husband in
trudes too carelessly on a wash ng day
or is guilty of any other inadvertency
which seems,to invade her province, her
voice is lifted up against him with no
uncertain sound. liis part, ho is a
vafian'ttrencher man, and an enterprising
grocer. His wife is careful of the pence,
and sees that nothing goes out of the fami
ly Ti’HT’pfftjlCf tWWfflfffigP. -She Hkes her
.husband for just what lie is worth; she
th nks him a “provider,” and a decent
sort of a body, hut she wishes him to
keep on diis own side of the house, and
she will manage her own affairs. She
wonders that she ever pined and wept at
his desertion, for she is sure that since
her marriage she .has seen fifty men as
good as he—when she is particularly
angry, ‘she says better.
Sad, sorrowful, pining, and melancho
ly,maids, if you canriot get husbands,
you are free from many cares and anxi
eties—rejoice. Have you been deserted
by a lover ? mourn not, but arouse and
seek some other ppurce of enjoyment ;
for the sorrow youTeel is the grief of in
experience. Had you married him, a
few years would have shown you that
your fine fancies were-but the dreams of
ignorance, and that lie for whom we now
mourn, was worth just)’ 1 so much and no*
more.
CLEANING STAINED COTTON.
Joseph B. Black, of Abbeville, South
Carolina, makes the following communi
cation to the Independent Press, which
may be very valuable to the Cotton
Planters, all or nearly all of whom, have
stained cotton this season. Let the
method be tested.
Mr. Editor: —Having discovered a
simple process by which cotton soiled by 1
| the late rains, may be cleansed and whi-;
tened. I make the suggestion for the !
benefit of farmers. Take a common
! wheat thrasher, and raise the cylinder j
I one inch, the box one-half inch, which
will throw the frails an inch from the
cross bar, and by placing the cross bars
|an inch apart, the dirt and traStl pass
through and fait in a heap near the
thrasher, and separately from the cotton.
In this way I cleansed enough dirty cot
ton to make some three bales of ginned
! cotton in about two hours. It can he
i cleansed as fast as several hands can feed
| the thrisher, and wl en done, is as white
j as that which has opened since the rain,
i Very respectfully,
JOSEPH R. BLACK.
Johnson’s Creek, Sept. 23, 1853.
S P. S. The thrasher I used was from
j Enright & Starr’s factory, Abbeville
C. H. ,
Stroke of Wit. —A stroke of wit, ac
companied by a delicacy of insult was
; played off by a lady who was engaged j
shortly to be married. The intend*! 1
j bridegroom perceiving her talking for a
j considerable time, and with much appa
rent pleasure to another gentleman, said ;
to her, “I will he revenged of your infi- J
i delity and show the letters you tyave j
! written to me.” “Do” said the lady, “I j
j have nothing to blush for, except the
I direction .”
New York Whig State Convention as
sembled sth inst. at Syracuse.
1 ♦
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1853.
[From the Coiirie.-.J
DR. DODDRIDGE’S DREAM.
Dr. Doddridge was on terms of very
intonate friendship with Dr. Samuel i
Clarke, and in religious conversation
they spent very many happy hours to
gether. Among other matters, a very
favorite topic was the intermediate state
of the soul, and the probability that at
the instant of dissolution it was not in-j
troduced into the presence of all the
heavenly hosts, and the splendors around
the throne of God. One evening, after
a conversation of this nature, Dr. Dod
dridge retired to rest with his mind full
ofttlie subject discussed, and in “the vis
ions ot the night” his ideas were shaped
in the following beautiful form:
lie dreampt that lie was in the house
of a friend, when lie was suddenly taken
dangerously ill. By degrees lie seemed
to himself to grow worse, and at last to
expire. In an instant he was sensible
that lie had ex hanged the prison-house
and sufferings of mortality, for a state of
liberty and happiness. Embodied in a
slendor aerial form, he seemed to float iu
a region of pure light. Beneath him
lay the earth, hut not a glittering city of
a village, the forest or the sea, was visi
ble. There was naught to be seen be
low save the melancholy group of his
friends, weeping around his lifeless re
mains. Himself thrilled with delight,
I lie was surprised at their tears, and at
| tempted to inform them of Ins happy
! change, but, by some mysterious power,
utterance was denied him; and, as he
anxiously leaned over the mourning cir
cle, gazing fondly upon them and strug
gling to speak, lie rose silently upon the
air, their forms became more and more
indistinct, and gradualls melted away
from liis sight. Reposing upon golden
clouds, lie found lumself swiftly mount
ing tlie skies, with a venerable figure at
liis side, guiding liis mysterious move
ments, and in whose countenance lie re
marked the lineaments of youth and age
were blended together with an intimate
harmony and majestic sweetness. They
travelled together through a vast, region
of empty space, until at’ length the bat
tlements of a glorious edifice shone in
the distance, and as its form rose bril
liant and distinct in the far off shadows
that flitted athwart their path, the guide
informed him that the palace I e beheld*,
for the present was to he liis mansion off
rest. Gazing upon'its splendor, lie re
plied that, while on earth lie had often
JbariUlMiUfop e . ve Ued not seel), lior had
the ear heard, nor could it enter into the
heart pf maiq to consider the things;
which God lisiil.i prepared for those wtrep
love him, hut notwithstanding the build
ing to which they were then rapidly ap
proaching was superior to any thing
which he had actually before beheld,
yet its grandeur had not exceeded the
conceptions he had formed. The guide
made no reply, they were already at the
door and entered. The guide introdu-,
ced him into a spacious apartment, at
the extremity of which, stood a table,
covered with a 6now white cloth, a gol
den cup and a cluster of grapes, and
then said that he must leave him, but
that he must remain for he would re
ceive in a short time, a visit from the
I*>rd of the mansion, and that during
the interval before his arrival, the apart
ment would furnish him with sufficient
entertainment and instruction. The
guide vanished and he was left alone.—-
fe began to examine the decorations of
the room, and observed that the walls”
were adoi ned with a number of pictures.
Upon nearer inspection, lie found to his
astonishment that they formed a com
plete biography of his own life. Here
he saw upon the canvass that angels,;
though unseen, had ever been his famil
iar attendants, and sent by God, they
had sometimes preserved him from im
minent peril. He beheld himself first
represented as an infant just expiring,
; when his life was prolonged by an an
i gel gently breathing into his nostrils.—
j Most of the occurrences here delineated
! were perfectly familiar to his recollec- j
tion, and unfolded many things which lie i
had never before understood/and which
had perplexed him with many doubts!
and much uneasiness. Among others. 1
he was particularly struck with pic
ture in which he was represented as fall
ing from his horse, when death would
have been inevitable, had not an angel
received him in liis arms, ;md broken
flic force of his descent. These merci- i
ful interpositions of God, filled -him with !
joy and gratitude, and his heart over-!
flowed with love, as he surveyed in them -
all, an exhibition of goodness and mercy j
far beyond all that lie imagined. The |
Lord of the mansion had arrived, the
door opened and lie entered—so power
ful and so overwhelming, and withal of
such singular beauty was his appear
ance, that he sunk down at his feet com
: pletelv overcome by liis majestic ap
pearance. His Lord gently raised him
from the ground, and taking his hand,
lea him forward to the table. He press
ed with liis fingers the juice of the
grapes iu the golden cu , and after
i . v, "fiL d . ra . nk > Resented it to him, sav
j 111 Hus is the new wine in my fatli
j er’s kingdom.” No sooner had he par
taken tnan all uneasy sensations van
ished ; perfect love had cast out fear,
and lie now Conversed witli liis Saviour
as an intimate friend. Like the silver
rippling of a summer sea, he heard fall
from liia Ups the grateful approbation,
“Thy labors are over, thy work is appro
ved, rich and glorious is the reward.”
Thrilled with an unspeakable bliss,
that glided over his spirits, a .and slid into
the very depths of liis soul, he suddenly
saw glories upon glories bursting upon
his view. The doctor la woke. Tears of
rapture from this joyfnl interview, were
rolling down his cheeks; long did the
lively impression of this charming dream
remain upon liis mind, and never could
he spdak of it withont emotions of joy
and tenderness. /
J. B. C.
■
THREE YEARS IN HEAVEN.
Three years ago, to-day, lie went to
Heaven.
Three years he had lived on earth.
He was’ the youngest of*our flock.—
Three summers only lie had been here,
and lie was brighter ad sunnier than
any summer ay of them all. The vest
of our flock were so much older than lie,
that when we hurried him, all the frolic’
of childhood that our house knew was
hid with him in liis grave. Since then
our hearth has been desolate, and our
hearts have been yearning for the hoy
who is gone. We think of him as gone,
not lost, living and blessed in another
and happier home than ours. He has
been there just three years, this day.
Three years in Haven! 1 hey do not.
measure life in the world of spirits by
days, or months, or years, hut we know
that all the time of these three years
while we have been mourning his ab
sence here, lie lias been rejoicing there.
We are willing to believe that the last
are as much better than the first, as the
heavens are higher, and brighter, and
more glorious than the earth. llis pa
rents, his brothers and isters and friends
were all sinful; lie had not lie holy play
mate, companion or teacher during those
three years that lie dwelt among us.—
And sometimes when we looked on him
in his sleep or in liis play, the thought
would come to us, “lie is too pure tor
earth, lie looks like an angel who has
strayed, and will soon find his way home.”
But, now he lias been three years in the
company of Heaven.
Three years with the redeemed and
holy inlfeavm! He is one of them,
’ and like them. He sits down with Sam
uel, ond Timothy, and John ; and they
tell him of Jesus, in whose blood they
washed heir robes, and whose righteous-
tfaefcr stoviitron. *Phere urawme
among the redeemed in Heaven who
wonkl have loved him had they been
here with him, hut. they went to glory
before he did. They have welcomed
hknj now to their company. lam not
sure’ that they know him as our child.
But we love to think of him, in the arms
of. th >se who were once in our arms;
thus broken families are re-united, and
made perfectly blessed 111 the enjoyment
Pripfod and each other, among the re
deemed and holy in Heaven.
%gjtSirec years with anyels ! They have
b§en liis companions and teachers. What
tlljpfes of wisdom and love he must have
leaped from three years’ instructions in
WBk a school. The cheruhims are said
JfcßMcel in knowledge, and this seraphim
Savc. Our child lias been three years
iggfp them, becoming more and more
MBhotli. What, an angel of a child he
Rt he now. We thought nun almost
|W before liis wings were given him.—
gMBv child, who was pleased
with the rattle, is flying among the an
jKnc throng, at home with Gabriel. lie
walks and speaks with the tallest spirits
in aie presence of the Infinite, and is as
free and happy as any who are there.
Wfi'hree years with Jesus , the children's
1 9!Aior! While with us he knew but
little of Jesus and His dying love. But
he |ia seen and known and loved Him
am. The blessed Savior said that “of
I 6iiai is the kingdom;” and there is a
gHgl which only a bleeding heart can
kulw, that a loved child is in liis pres
the bosom of that Savior; look-
ES§j up into His face, and making Ilea. e
1 vojal with hymns of gladness and love.
! Blpsed Jesus! Blessed child! Our
j SiJ’ior, our child!
AThree years in Heaven! Three years
without a pain, a sigh, or a tear. He
J oftfejrwept while here; he suffered dread
fullv before he went. away. For many
days, and nights he was torn with fierce
convulsions, eite his spirit was released,
I But now for three years, just as many
: as the years he was in this vale of tears,
j he bjs been where up one ever says, “I
; am fok;” where the Savior wipes-away
! all tutrs, where sighing and sorrow nev
er come.
AVid though tiie light of our house
has gone out, and our hearts ache to-day
for Ibe loved one that is gone, we are
more than reconciled to the IV ill that
has tallied him to the other and better
world. This is the anniversary of our loss;
a death-day here; but liis birth-day there.
Loiig and lonely have these three years
been to ns; .bright and blessed years to
our sen in glory. “Even so, Father. —
Not for will, hut thine he done-”
Spurters.—A waggish spendthrift
said: fFive years ago, I was not worth a
cent in the world—now see where I am
through mv exertions?
“Well, where are you ?”
“Why, I owe more than §3,000!”
THE- CLIMATE OF COUNTRIES.
Although Edinburgh, in Great Brit-!
ain, is situated ten degrees further north |
than the city of New York, it lias a-1
much wanner climate in winter, and the j
heat and cold never attain to such ex
tremes. The climate of England is, to
most of our pe pie, a mystery. The is
land is situated between 50 and 55 deg. i
I north latitude, and it has a milder cli
mate than any we enjoy in the latitudes
of 40 and 45 deg. The British Isles are
situated in the path of warm ocean cur
rents, which How across the Atlantic
and heat upon and circulate around
them. The wild Orkev islands, which!
are situated in 59 deg. 5 min., have war
mer winters than we have in Netv York,
which is situated aljoiit 17 deg. further
south. In the city of G a-gow, the mean
temperature in the month of January is
38 deg., and it was never below zdvu but.
twice in forty years, and then onTy 3
deg. for two davs.
r* ./ - *
In Hast, in the Shetland Isles, in lat.
60 deg. 5 min., the mean temperature
in January is 40 deg. In many places
in the United Slates, ranging from N.
York to Maine, in lat 45 deg. the mean j
temperature is 6 deg. below zero. Last i
is only one degree colder than Constan
tinople in January, and no count® in
Europe, nor the world, perhaps enjoys
the mildness of climate peculiar t4> (4.
Britain and Ireland. This must have
a'wonderful elicet npon the health and
organization of the people. The 1 cause
is, as we have stated, generally attribu
ted to the currents of the gulf stream ;
one philosopher, however, aftritfc:e.s the
genial warmth to moist breezes rram Af
rica, which come over the Atlantic, cros
sing the equator. In Russia, Moscow
is on the same line with Edinburg, yet
its temperature in winter is at,least 13
deg. lower. The climate of England is
moist and wet. To foreigners, accus
tomed to clear skies , it is disagreeable.
. o
The atmosphere is cloitdv in summer,
and this is one reason, why it is not so
warm as in other countries in the same
northern latitude. Were it, not for the
warm ocean currents and the warm
breezes, the coast of England would he
ice-bound, and many of the plants which
now flourish there as evergreens would
he unknown.
On the northern coast of onr continent
—in northern (.'regon—tlie climate is
much warmer in winter than in places
on the same lines <>f latitude iri our Eas
tern States. _ It is believed that currents
w4h the Oregon shores, as the Gulf
stream of the Atlantic does the British
Isles. During the oast winter the tlier-
monefer ranged at 17 deg. above zero,
and the prairies were green all the time,
except when covered by occasional snow
storms. The farmer is not compelled,
as in the Eastern States, to depend for
the winter sustenance of his cattle on
hay raised the previous season; his cat
tle can graze here throughout the jvhole
year, and wild flowers may often be
plucked in the months of January and
February. — Scientific American.
PRINTER’S DEVIL. )
We have so ‘frequently been asked by
friends and others, “why the hoy. in a
printing office is called the ‘■DmiiV ”
that we give below what little we know
upon the subject. M
The first persons who carried on print
ing to any extent, were John Giitfen
berg, Jolla Faust (or Faustus) and Pe
ter Sclueffer. Germany was the place
where the art was invented and first car
ried on. The following story is told of
the first introduction of printing into
France:
“In 1462, Faust c&rred a number of
Bibles to Paris, which he and his part
ner, SchoelTer, had printed, and disposed
of them as manuscripts; at this time the
discovery of the art was not known in
France. At first lie sold them at the
high price of 500 and 600 crowns, the
sum usually obtained by the scribes; he
afterwards lowered the price to sixty*,
which created universal astonishment;
but when he produced them according
to the demand, and even reduced £he
price to thirty, all Paris became agitated.
The uniformity of the copies increased
their wonder, the Parisians considering
it a task-beyond human invention.. In
formation was given to the police against
him as a magician; his lodgings were
searched, a great number of Bibles were
found and seized; the red ink with which
they were embellished, was said to be
bis blood; it was seriously adjudged that
he was in league with the devil; where
upon lie was cast into prison, and would
most probably have shared the fate of
such, whom ignorant and superstitions
judges condemned in those days for
witchcraft. He now found it necessary,
in order to gain his liberty, to make
kno .n the discovery of the art. This
<4rcnnSßtttnce gave ri e to the tradition
of ‘The Devil and Dr. Faustus,’ which
is handed down to the present time.”
The ignorance and superstition that
considered printing an invention of the
Evil one, would also very naturally sup
pose the men engaged in it were ttie ser
vants of Satan, if not actually fiends in
human shape. It is universally consid
ered that the above story gave rise to the
practice of -ailing the office-boy by the
name of Devil,
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
Advertisements inserted nt One Dollar pej
square for the first insertion, mid Furr Cents for
each subsequent insertion.
A liberal deduction will be made for pearly
advertisements.
Legal Advertisements inserted nt the usual rate*.
Advertisements, without limitation, w ill be pub
lished until forbid, and charged accordingly.
Offt'-e No. (53 liroad Street, next (fear below
Harrison ct Ayer's.
NO. 37.
GETTING FORTUNES BY LOTTERY;
A Pennsylvania paper has taken some
pains for the purpose of showing how
near a man may come to drawing a prize
by buying a lottery ticket, hirst, (lie
says) there are upwards of seventy
number* used in making out the ticket,
and there are three numbers on each
ticket ; now the question is, how many
different tickets can he made i If hut.
ten figures were used, instead of seventy,
there could he issued 3,(538,800 tickets,
each different from -the others; and if
twelve figures were used, instead of seven
ty, there could he issued 479,000,600
j tickets; so a man, in the first instance,
where there are ten numbers would
stand one chance out of 3,628,800 chan
ces, and in the last instance, where there
! are twelve numbers to change by, he
j would stand hut one chance out of
’ 479,000,600, and if the whole seventy
i figures he used, and if as many different
tickets were issued as could be formed
by the permutation of these numbers, it
is probable that there would he enough
to more than carpet the whole territory
oftheUnited States.
Os course very few are printed, com
i pared to what might be printed, yet
there is just as good a chance for the
prize to fall to an imprinted, ticket as to
apr.nted one. Il in does so, as no one
can claim the money, it remains with
those making the lottery. There are, in
such a case, thousands of chances in favor
o: the Lottery maker. Again, if lotte
ries were fairly conducted, there would
he hundreds or thousands each month’
receiving a fortune by the high prizes
alone; and each year there could be
named from 1,000 to 10,0(10 persons thus
favored by fortune. In this we have
only been speaking of one single prize
in each lottery, and as there are many
important ones in each, the fortunate
persons ought to greatly exceed ten
thousand annually. Yet, how seldom
do you hear that even a SIOOO prize is
drawn? Still all the prizes of every
lottery should fall on someone at each
drawing. Who gets them? where do
the favored ones live?—and how does
it happen that their names arc not para
ded before the public each week, and
thus used to induce 1 others to buy ? It is
simply because no ole holds a ticket
entitled to the prize, ahd of course, the
money remains with the.-‘maker of the
lottery. The whole system, would be a
perfect scheme of gambling, even i’s hon
estly conducted, but managed as it is, it
.loses the character- of even honorable
gambling, and should rank with the low
est species of fraud.
Go out beneath the arched heaven in
night’s profound gloom, and say, if yon
can—“ There is no God !” Pronounce
that, dread blasphemy, and each star
above will reprove you for vonr unbro
ken darkness of intellect—-'every voice
that floats upon the night winds will be
wail-yonr utter hopelessness and despair.
Is there no God? Who, then unrolled
that blue scroll, and threw upon its high
frontispiece the legible glearnings of im
mortality? Who fashioned the green
eart , with its pe-petual rolling waters,
and its expanse of island and main ?
Who paved the heavens with clouds,
and attuned amid banners of storms the “
voice of thunders; and unchained the
lightning that linger and lurk and flash
in their gloom ? Who give to the eagle
a safo eyrie, where the tempest dwell
and beat strongest, and to the dove a
tranquil abode amid the forests that ev
er echo to the minstrelsy of her moan?
Who made thee, oh man, with thy per
fect elegance of intellect and form ?
Who made light pleasant to thee, and
the darkness a covering and a herald to
the first flashes of the morning? Who
gave thee that matchless symmetry of
sinews and limb? That regular flow of
blood? The irrepressible and daring
passiou of ambition? And yet the
thunders of heaven and the waters of
earth are calmed ? Are there no floods,
that man is not swept under a deluge ?
They remain, hut the bow of reconcilia
tion stands out above and beneath them.
And it were better that the limitless wa
ters and the strong mountains were con
vulsed and commingled together—it
were better that the very stars -were
conflagrated by fire or shrounded in
eternai gloom, than that one soul should
1)3 lost, while Mercy kneels and pleads
, for it before the altar of intercession.
Jennv Lxxd has got a baby. The
“Otto of Roses” is distilled. The foun
tain that has fed multitudes with the af
fluence of holiest song, now feeds holiest
humanity that does its own singing.
more white gloves enclosing frenzied fin
i Jiers, applaud the virgin cantatrice, but
little hands, softer than kid, pat one an
other gently and joyously in the eyes of
the ydnng mother. ‘ “An monx I
sung no inure over tli; Parqnette, but
over the cradle. What a dear little dar
ling the baby must be? We think w<-
see Otto going into the room conning
his double treasure. Wliat to him i.
operas, as lie bends over the sweet little
snub-nose that nestles in its noble moth
er’s arms! Think of them all there to
gether, and tell us oh! ascetic old bach
elor and old maid unmarried from
choice, (if there exists such a marvel, i
whether you think such happiness to Ik;
cavalierly sneezed at? —SjinngfieliJ